Tidings
by Randomabiling
Summary: 2016 Cobert Holiday FanFic Exchange. A quiet moment on the precipice of chaos.


"I miss moments like this more than anything" was my dialogue prompt for the 2016 Cobert Holiday Fic Exchange. Hope you enjoy it!

Robert entered the house in a burst, the swell of the bitter wind on his back pushing him forward with force. It screamed around him, blowing through the salon and unsettling the papers on the marble tops, aggravating the drapes cascading over the windows. Barrow quickly shouldered the door shut, a tight lid sealing them into a vacuum of calm once again, and Robert let out the cold breath he had been holding on to. Inhaling, fresh pine, clove and orange filled his lungs. It was the smell of Christmas, or at least, the scent it had taken on these last forty-nine years. Mama had filled the house with fir in the holidays of his youth.

But Cora, Cora had always prefered a pine tree; a pine tree decorated with copious amounts of pomander balls, made each season by she and the girls.

Robert closed his eyes for a moment, the childish laughter of his children an echo in his memory. The twinge of sadness such thoughts produced was hastily brushed aside as he heard the adult chattering coming from the shuttered doors of the library. Pulling off his hat and handing Thomas his coat, Robert briskly walked toward the room that contained his family, glancing back at the towering tree once more. It was certainly a beauty, one of the best they'd had. Full and lush in all of the right places, it's branches straight and firm, it was dressed in the tasteful splendor that all of their previous trees had adorned, but this tree seemed different. Nobler, more somber in its regal strength. Or perhaps, that was just him, a sobriety tainting all of the festivities of the season.

Pulling at his coat tails, Robert shook of the glum that was determined to fester under his breastbone and he opened the library door. Conversation stopped abruptly at his entrance, all the faces in the huddled group lifting up and offering a varying range of smiles. Robert nodded at them all, going to the buffet for his tea and a biscuit. Stirring the contents of his cup mindlessly, he stared out the window, the first flurries of snow swirling angrily to the ground. _Odd_ , he thought, _it had seemed too cold for snow._

"How was your walk, Donk?"

The voice of his youngest grandchild, still high and taught like a harp string, broke him from his musings and he looked down. Peter's moonlike face beamed up at him from his place on the floor. Robert reached down and tousled the brown mop of unruly hair atop his head. The boy giggled before turning back to the chess board with a furrowed brow, studying his next move. His cousin and opponent still had her eyes up on Robert. Robert raised an eyebrow at Grace before looking about the room.

"Where are the others?" He asked.

It was a rare occasion for the whole family to be together now and Robert was remiss to let the moments pass by, knowing that once Boxing day came and went, they would separate once again. This year, it seemed especially essential to be around one another.

"They scurried off with Mama." Mary's dry words contained the same hint of disapproval they always did.

Robert caught the roll of Edith's eyes as she looked away from her sister. "They are down in the kitchen."

"Missing tea?" His voice held enough incredulity that it reminded him of his mother and Robert cleared his throat, turning again to the children at his feet. "Why aren't the two of you with them?"

Peter's eyes darted up at him. "It's the best two out of three, Donk!"

Grace smirked. "Peter wants to get trounced again."

"Hey!" Peter whined as Grace deftly moved her bishop into his knight's spot, taking the piece and adding it to her growing collection.

Robert laughed to himself and set his cup down, sliding from the room as everyone went back to their amusements. He re-entered the salon, stepping quickly to the small door tucked in the far corner of the wall. Winding down the staircase, he breathed in deeply. The aroma reached him down the hall as his shoes clipped along the white tile flooring, well before he came to the glass partition offering him a view into the kitchen. He stopped abruptly, peaking around the wood and into the room. A tiny piece of his heart chipped off at the sight, leaving a bittersweet pain.

For there was Cora, at this distance as young and agile as he had always known her, stirring a large bowl full of batter. Around her, Sybbie and George and Marigold hunched over their work, attentions fully immersed by the intricate decorations they were no doubt making with icing and embellishments. Sometimes, like these, he couldn't quite believe how they'd grown. No longer needing to be bolstered up to the counter by stools and ladders, his three oldest grandchildren were all matured versions of their younger selves. When George stood near Cora, looking over her shoulder eagerly at the fresh dough, he towered, making her look diminutive in comparison. Robert felt, suddenly, the age that had crept up behind him.

When he focused back onto the scene behind the glass, Robert saw Cora's eyes were upon him, the lines in her face deepening with her smile. She had an uncanny way of finding him out. His own lips turned up into a curl and caught in his snooping, he entered the kitchen.

Sybbie looked up first. "Donk!" She called out. "Now don't eat them before they've had a chance to cook!"

"You don't want to be sick again this year," George reminded him and they all shared a chuckle.

An impulse to grab them all up in his arms and hold on tight surged through his limbs but Robert crossed his arms in front of his chest instead. Cora set her bowl down, coming up to his side and squeezing his bicept gently. Ignoring the company of the others, Robert unfurled his arms and placed one over the top of her shoulders. She, most of all, he wanted to shelter in his embrace.

"Why do you have that pinched look about you?" Cora asked, keeping her voice low and leading them a few paces away from the children.

Robert sighed. "I just cannot...every sweet Christmas sentiment only seems to exacerbate…" .

Cora wrapped her thin arms around his middle and Robert tucked her in more fully. She rested her head under his chin. He pressed a kiss into her hair, its silken tresses caressing his lips.

"I know, darling. I cannot quite believe it still, myself. And when I think of them…" Cora's voice cracked, her hand coming up to gesture at the trio flicking flour at one another.

"We will be alright, Cora." Robert assured, a steadiness he did not truly feel shoring up his words. He rubbed circles into her back, feeling the stutter of her breath.

"George…" Cora whispered, her voice cutting right to his gut, setting a fire as her one agonized syllable resonated with his own fears.

As much as they may try to remain merry, the fingers of war touched everything with its dirty imprint. Robert's only consolation was that much of Europe would be feeling as they were, the nauseous terror that this would be the last happy Christmas for some time to come. Cora had already outdone herself, intent to make it the most special of Christmases and it had been so far. Each detail perfect and splendid.

Her wavering optimism was a testament to how much her efforts had fatigued her. Indeed, looking down at her face, Robert could see the bruises under her eyes that had only begun to fade a few weeks ago were back.

"You're taxing yourself too much." Robert stated and Cora immediately scoffed.

"Dr. Jones gave me a clean bill of health." Cora reminded him.

Robert nodded. "Yes, but it remains that you had major surgery last month and are still mending."

"This is mending," Cora said softly. "Moments like these, the memories…".

She said the words lightly, content, but they felt like lead boulders in Robert's chest. His knees weakened, wobbled as he held her tighter, repeating in his mind Dr. Jones's prognosis. The surgery had been a success, the cancer was gone.

"Don't go borrowing trouble," Cora's words tickled his ear and Robert couldn't help but snort. She knew him so well. "Perhaps 1940 will surprise us all. Perhaps this will all blow over."

That was more like his Cora, though he couldn't believe it, no matter how he wanted to.

"Donk! Granny!" Sybbie's calling to them had them stepping out of each other's arms and joining the children again.

"Here," Marigold held out two copper mugs to them as George and Sybbie sipped from their own. "Eggnog."

"Ugh," Robert groaned even as Cora happily took hers. Her love for the stuff confounded Robert, who couldn't get past the uncomfortable coating it left on his tongue.

"I put a little something 'extra' in it," George snickered, wagging his eyebrows in delight.

"Don't tell our parents!" Sybbie exclaimed and they all laughed before drinking heartily.

Cora's own laughter joined in with the children's and her eyes twinkled at him above the rim of her glass. Despite his earlier disdain, Robert took a cautious sip of the drink, before taking a more generous helping. Whatever George had added, it made it more palatable.

The warmth of the oven filled the kitchen, just as the warmth of alcohol seeped into Robert's veins. Some of his earlier tension receded as he held his family in the cradle of his gaze. Their profiles blurred, his vision going hazy. Marigold placed her cup down and opened her mouth.

" _God rest you merry, gentlemen,/Let nothing you dismay,/ For Jesus Christ our Saviour/ Was born upon this day./ To save us all from Satan's power/ When we were gone astray."_ Marigold's fragile voice rung through the room, the carol sending a shiver through his body. Cora clasped his hand.

"Oh tidings of comfort and joy." Robert joined in, Cora's own singing clear and strong beside him. Robert sent up a prayer for all of them, for the whole of the world.


End file.
